


SNATCHED

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snatched from life, friends, and family as if he never existed<br/>I did want to have this ready for Halloween but obviously that didn't happen!<br/>Originally posted on my LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	SNATCHED

**Author's Note:**

> This is truly a WTF fic. I don't think tissues are needed, but you might keep one handy just in case.  
> Read the end notes after you've read the fic.

_                                                                                  How far would you go to be with the one you love?   _

  
He arrived from Los Angeles on the red eye with no memory of the flight. His mind had gone blank after the phone call.   
  
Mouth set in a grim line, he swept into the loft like a brushstroke of bold color slashed on sepia, and greeted the detectives with a curt nod. Other than the constant ripple of his cheek muscles, he maintained rigid control, necessary to shrugaway what he refused to consider or accept. A walking zombie from lack of sleep, he fought to make sense out of the nonsensical. They had found the backpack in the bedroom, contents chaotically strewn on the floor, and signs of a struggle. His skin crawled.

  
Certain of foul play, their questions exploded in his head like firecrackers. Did he have any enemies? What was your relationship? How long were you together? And the one that drove the stake into his heart—was there anyone who would want to hurt Justin because of _him?_ His cold lips trembled with the effort to stay calm and not sound confrontational. But the impact of what they didn’t say started to dismantle Brian Kinney brick by brick.  
  
They assured him the case would be given top priority and yes, they would immediately contact him with any news. He stared at the door after they left with clumps of hair clutched in his hands. When he finally forced his legs to move, he pretended not to notice his barefoot shuffle was the only noise in the cavernous space. He muddled around aimlessly until the iron fist in his chest snapped his brain awake with a message. The clock had started its countdown. He couldn't sit around and wait.  
  
                                                                                                     * * * *  
Patience had never been his strong suit, other than as a motivational tool for revenge or sexual stamina. With the road map of Liberty Avenue’s seedier side embedded in his brain, he sniffed around like a hound dog. He knew where to look, knew the seamy nooks and crannies police had no idea existed, or if they did, would never bother to explore. But despite his threats of bodily harm and promises of bodily pleasure, he came up empty and frustrated.  
  
In an odd turn for gay crime, even after Stockwell’s demise, the disappearance was put on the front burner. He made a mental note to thank Carl. An 800 anonymous number was set up, a reward published, and the local media gave the story intense coverage. The immediate reaction in the community was concern and outrage. Because of the publicity, numerous tips poured in. True to their word, the police followed every one, but the few credible leads went nowhere and ratcheted up his terror that he would never see Justin again. He watched reality crime shows. Each passing day meant less of a chance for a happy ending.  
  
He was camped in his usual spot at the station when a call came in. A silver van with a hanging rear bumper had been parked in front of the loft the night Justin disappeared. Hoping to jog memories and perhaps loosen tongues, investigators went public with the information. Their strategy paid off.  
  
Days later, they received a tip from a woman who said her brother-in-law drove a van similar to the one on the news. In a city of about 300,000, that information alone wasn’t enough to generate substantial interest. But her hesitant disclosure that he had mentioned Justin Taylor on more than one occasion raised a collective brow—and targeted Gary Saperstein as a person of interest.  
  
Relaxed and comfortable when brought in for questioning, he slouched back in his chair and gave his answers in a calm manner. But a few probing comments about drug-fueled sex parties and blowjobs erased the nonchalance. He adamantly denied any involvement with the disappearance and said he had been out of town with friends. When he stood up and asked if he was under arrest, they had to let him leave. There wasn't enough evidence to hold him.  
  
Police kept the pressure on while they verified his alibi. Finding it littered with holes, they decided to pay him a surprise visit. Although they heard music inside, there was no answer to their repeated knocks on the door. They radioed for emergency assistance and twenty minutes later, pried the door open. And then the investigation took a dramatic turn. He had hung himself.  
  
After securing the area, they notified the coroner’s office and put in a call for a search warrant. Logistics completed, they seized his computer, cell phone and various files, but a search of the tiny cluttered apartment failed to uncover any clues. On their way out, a detective took one last look and spotted a crumpled piece of paper shoved between worn sofa cushions. Artist’s paper.  
  
Found guilty and convicted in the court of public opinion after his suicide, Saperstein was prominently mentioned in the media under a cloud of suspicion. The only problem was that police couldn’t say for certain he was the one responsible. Circumstances tied him to the case but not enough to conclusively tie him to the crime. With his bad habits and shady acquaintances, they also didn’t know if others were involved. And they had doubt. A sleazy criminal with a long rap sheet, he had no behavior in his past consistent with violence of this magnitude.   
  
What stood out was the abduction itself. They contacted departments in nearby cities and pulled old cases with similar parallels. A few piqued their interest, but the perpetrators were behind bars. Even with their efforts, they couldn’t find any other potential suspects. Despite the likelihood that Gary Saperstein was behind the disappearance of Justin Taylor, they were persuaded to keep the file open...just in case.

                                                               
                                                                                                * * * *  
                                                     _Where is your faith? Where is your hope? And what do you do when there's nothing left?_  
  
With expectations dashed by the unsatisfactory closure, whatever positivity Brian possessed faded into nothingness. Like Justin. Nevertheless, he clung to hope. He had to. It was all he had left. But time marches to the beat of a relentless drummer and waits for no one—not an anguished mother and sister, not grieving friends, not even a haunted, shell of a man.  
  
Plagued by chronic insomnia, he resorted to mindless drives in the middle of the night. After weeks and months of endless anguish, he came to a decision. He didn’t want to grovel, but if it was a deal-breaker, he would.  
  
That was why, in the moonlit darkness, he headed toward the gated community of Pittsburgh’s elite, weaving through tree-lined streets and well-manicured lawns until he arrived at his destination. He had called in advance, of course. One didn’t drop in unannounced in this neighborhood. He pressed the bell and heard the echo of ethereal chimes inside the house. Light spilled through beveled glass as a shadowy figure moved forward to open the massively carved door. 

“Yes?”  
  
“Brian Kinney to see Mr. Vance.”  
  
“Ah, Mr. Kinney. He’s been expecting you. Please come in. This way, sir.”  
  
A bespectacled, white-haired man led him down an impressive hallway into a mahogany paneled library.  
  
“Brian, how nice to see you! I’ve taken the liberty of pouring you a drink. Beam, if I remember correctly?”  
  
He gave a brief nod and accepted the crystal tumbler with a thinly disguised grimace. “You’ve done well, Gardner.”  
  
“Hmm, life _has_ been good. And to you as well, may I add. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t hear Kinnetik’s name mentioned. So, what can I do for you? I assume you’re not here to get your old job back?”  
  
“Hardly.” He snickered as their acrimonious business relationship flitted before his eyes. “No, I’m here about a personal matter.” He took a long swallow of his drink. “You’ve heard about Justin Taylor?”  
  
“Ah, yes. Good lord! They still haven’t found him?”  
  
“No. No, they haven’t. They think he’s probably— No clues, nothing.”  
  
“Terrible. Terrible.”  
  
“That’s why I came to you.”  
  
“Me? I wield considerable power now, Brian, but I don't—“  
  
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Gardner.”  
  
“Then what....”  
  
He drilled his gaze through the spatial atoms of time and space, willing him to understand what he couldn’t say. In perfect harmony with his thumping heart, seconds ticked and clicked on the ornate grandfather clock. When he noticed the dawn of comprehension and subtle change of expression, he breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
“I see.” Fingers steepled under his chin, Gardner mulled over the unspoken request. “You _do_ know what you’re asking?”  
  
“I’m not fucking stupid. Of course, I do. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”  
  
“And you’re prepared to—“  
  
“Let’s cut the bullshit. My answer to everything is yes. An affirmative, fucking yes. Just make sure you keep up your end of the bargain.”  
  
“Oh, trust me.” The voice carried a velvet edge. “The one thing you can bet your life on is that I always keep my word.” Gardner rose from the cordovan leather chair with a fake smile plastered on his face. “We’ve known each other long enough to dispense with the paperwork, don’t you think?” He held out his hand. “Gentlemen’s agreement?”  
  
Without thought, without pause, Brian shook his hand. “Whatever.”  
  
“Marvelous! I’ll have Reginald see you out.”  
  
“No need. I’ll find the way.”  
  
“It’s certainly been a pleasure, Brian,” he called after him. He stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows and absently jiggled his glass, the ice cubes tinkling against the sides. When a car engine roared to life and sped away, he took a satisfied sip. “A pleasure indeed.”

  
                                                                                                 * * * *  
  
After weeks of no contact with Gardner Vance, Brian was sure the man’s reputation was not only vastly overrated but also seriously fraudulent. He wondered about the validity of their gentlemen’s agreement and considered breaking the deal. After all, there was nothing in writing. But when he considered his options, he figured what the hell. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.  
  
And then, six months to the day, he received a call. After straightening his desk and arranging the folders in alphabetical order, he closed the door to his office, said goodnight to Cynthia, and walked out of Kinnetik _._  
  
 _Give me a reason to stay because there are too many reasons to go._  
                                                            
                                                                                                 * * * *  
“Good evening, Mr. Kinney. Nice to see you again.”  
  
Brian acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. “Reginald.”  
  
“Mr. Vance requested that you go to the library, sir.”  
  
He headed down the familiar hallway, determined but uncertain what to expect. With his own breathing an ocean’s roar in his head, he gripped the doorknob, turned it to the right, and opened the door.  
  
Overcome with an inexplicable urge to fall to his knees and thank whatever God he didn’t believe in, he wanted to weep. With joy. With sorrow. With regret.  
  
In all his glory, in all his beauty, there he was. The air around him shimmered as shafts of light shone on his blond hair, crowning him with a halo of gold.  
  
“Justin?”  
  
The man staring out the window whirled around with a smile that lit up the room. “Brian!”  
  
“It’s you? It’s really you?” In a flash, Brian closed the distance between them. He inhaled in his scent and hesitantly touched his skin with a shaking hand. Only then did he allow himself to believe.  
  
Justin laughed and poked him in the ribs. “Of course, it’s me. Who the fuck else were you expecting?”  
  
“No one. No one. It’s just—“  
  
“Just what?”  
  
Like lava from a volcanic eruption, the tears he tried so hard to stem overflowed, staining his cheeks with bottled-up grief. “I never thought, I never believed we’d—”  
  
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here now, right?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. You are. Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” Strangled with emotion, he could only choke out the words. He couldn’t stop touching him. “Oh, God! Fuck! It _is_ you! I should have said it more, I never—”  
  
“Shh. Don’t.” Justin put a finger on his lips to silence him. “I know. I’ve always known.” He grabbed his hand. “C’mon, Brian. We have a lot to catch up on and all the time in the world to do it.”

  
_“If the world should stop revolving spinning slowly down to die,_ _  
I’d spend the end with you and when the world was through,_ _  
Then one by one the stars would all go out_ _  
Then you and I would simply fly away.”_ _©Gates,Homme_  
  
 ** _Three months later_**  
  
An overworked Ted Schmidt strode down the corridor to the office of Kinnetik’s CEO. Although the door was open, he knocked, not wanting to startle its occupant. “You busy?”  
  
Cynthia slowly turned around. “Hey, Ted, no of course not. Come on in. I was just—” She shook her head and sighed.  
  
His eyes drifted to the photo on the credenza. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
“It’s so hard to believe. I still expect him to charge in, demanding, ‘What the fuck are you doing in my office?’”  
  
“It does seem eerily quiet, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Sometimes too much. Never thought I’d miss his 'unique' management skills and his ingratiating personality.” She smiled ruefully and took a deep breath. “Okay, so what’s up?”  
  
“Can you come to my office? I need to go over the contracts with you before we sign off.”  
  
“Sure. Lead the way.”  
  
Almost at the door, he stopped short. “Did you hear that?”  
  
Cynthia looked at him, puzzled. “What?”  
  
He slapped the side of his head. “I could have sworn I heard, ‘Theodore.’”  
  
A melancholy expression flitted over her face. “Probably because we were talking about him. If it makes you feel better, there are times I hear his voice, too.” She linked her arm through his. “Come on. We have contracts that need my signature.”  
  
Ted threw a backward glance at the office before they left. “Knowing Brian, when he’s not fucking Justin in some heavenly backroom, he’s haunting Kinnetik.” He gave a nervous laugh and shut the door.  
  
 _THE END_

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify...Gardner Vance is not the devil. He's the representative of the "Grim Reaper" on earth or as a wonderful reader offered, 'doorkeeper to the underworld.' After Justin's kidnapping, Brian, being Brian, decided there was nothing to hold him on earth without Justin and made a pact with Gardner that he would 'go' now if Gardner guaranteed he could spend the afterlife with Justin.  
> My mind does take some bizarre twists and turns occasionally!


End file.
